Bewitching (30 page)

The broom swept the flour from the table in a few puffs of white, then did a tidy little dance around the table, sweeping the flour into a pile. Joy smiled, then dropped the vegetables onto the table top next to Alec's bread dough. She eyed the lump, then turned to the bread oven above the hearth. She turned back and tried to pick up the dough. She could only hold half of it, the other half flopped over her arm. She set it back down, pointed at it and twiddled her fingers.

The dough crept like an inchworm to the edge of the table. Must be too heavy for twiddling, she thought.

She raised one hand and said, "Up!"

"Bloody hell!"

Oh, no . . . not again!
Grimacing, she looked into the great room, expecting to see her husband in midair.

Alec stood on the solid floor, bent over the small woodpile near the fireplace. "The blasted wood won't light. It must be too green."

Joy let out a relieved breath, then saw the dough still hovering above the table. She pointed at the oven and whispered, "Go! Cook yourself!"

The bread flew into the brick oven and the iron door slammed shut with a loud clank. She heard Alec's boots on the plank floor. The broom stopped its sweeping and stood in the middle of the room. She grabbed it just as he walked past, heading for the staircase. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

She nodded and gave him what she hoped was an innocent smile.

"I have to get some dry wood from upstairs," he said, then paused at the bottom of the stairs, giving her an odd look. "Is something wrong?"

She tried to smile more broadly. "No." She shook her head. "Just cleaning up a bit." She lifted the broom.

He nodded and went up the stairs. She watched his split boots disappear and sagged back against the table. From the ceiling above, she could hear him entering the upstairs room. Work quickly, she thought, then frowned at the pile of flour and snapped her fingers. "Disappear!"

The flour was gone in a blink. Smiling proudly, she rubbed her hands together and decided to try her hand at the vegetables. She was just thinking up an incantation for vegetable peeling when Alec came back down the stairs.

He bent under the upstairs overhang, his hands gripping the stair rail, and looked at her strangely. "The firewood is gone."

She looked up at him, an uneasy feeling settling in her stomach like a lump of dough. She stared at the ceiling above her.

His eyes grew a wee tinge suspicious. He waited a moment, then asked, "Did you see a stack of wood up there when you awoke?"

"I don't remember," she said, her mind swimming with the picture of the nice neat stack of wood that had been by the fireplace. "Did you see a knife in here anywhere?" She turned her back to him and began rummaging through the kitchen, closing and opening cabinets with a dramatic flair.

There was a long silence. Then he answered, "No. What do you need a knife for?"

"To peel the vegetables," she said, poking inside a drawer but still not meeting his questioning gaze.

"Peel them?" he said under his breath. "Who would have ever thought to peel them?"

Joy glanced up and saw him frowning at the pile of vegetables on the worktable. His gaze met hers and his shoulders went ramrod straight just before he turned away. "I have to get some more wood," he said and left the room.

She paused and looked up at the beamed ceiling, breathing a thankful sigh of relief that the whole upstairs hadn't disappeared.

Finally after rummaging through another cabinet, she found two knives. She took the smaller one and crossed to the table. She looked at the vegetables and knew that she had to do this without the benefit of any more magic. She had a feeling she was already under suspicion. She washed the vegetables in a basin of water from the barrel, then dried them on a small piece of flaxen toweling she'd found in her search.

She peeled the tough skin off a turnip, humming a song from her childhood and thinking about the wonderful dinner they could have had if only she could have used her magic. She could have conjured up a roast duckling with honey and orange sauce, braised carrots with tiny sweet onions, creamed potatoes, and rich, buttery scones.

Hmm.

Suddenly Joy was starved. Butter, she thought. Now, that was what their bread needed. A frown creased her face. No doubt he would notice if she contrived some. She turned toward the old butter churn in the corner. She tapped a thoughtful finger against her chin, then walked over and dragged the churn into the middle of the room.

Wiping her hands on her skirt, she left the room and found Alec. "Come see what I've found."

He set a stack of wood down and pinned her with a look that said,
"Now what?"
She smiled. He finally shook his head and silently followed her into the kitchen.

"Look. It's a butter churn." She waited for his response.

"Yes, I suppose it is," he conceded, obviously not impressed.

"We can make butter!" She rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

"I don't remember seeing any cream."

"Isn't this an inn? There must be a barn, or maybe there are cows in the stable. Don't all inns have stables?"

"I'm certain this is not like most inns."

"Have you looked outside?"

"I believe you are the one who should look outside."

Joy crossed to the window and cleaned the glass. All she saw was snow, white mounds of snow, and it came almost up past the window ledge. Her shoulders slumped with defeat and she turned back around."I just thought your bread would taste better with butter." She stood there quietly. She could feel him watching her and glanced up to search his hard-angled face.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, muttering something about freezing to death again. A second later he strode across the room, where he picked up the cape they'd used in the carriage. He slid into it and crossed to a side door.

"Where are you going?"

"There's a building across the carriage yard. I suspect it's a barn or a stable or a combination of the two.

I heard a cowbell when I found this place, so maybe your cow is out there."

"Oh, good!" She followed him at a half-skip. "Where's my coat?"

He stopped suddenly and slowly turned, looking down his noble nose. "You shall stay here."

"Why?"

His face said he was looking for patience. "Because the snow is deep and you have only been up for a few minutes."

"But I want the butter, so I should go with you."

"No."

"It's only a few yards."

"No."

"But—"

"I am not used to having my commands challenged." Gone was the man who had eyed the bread so doubtfully, and back was the arrogant duke. He reached for the doorknob.

Remembering that one weak moment in the kitchen she switched tactics. "Can you milk a cow?"

He stopped mid-motion, his hand tightly gripping the doorknob. It seemed a lifetime before he said, "Your coat is across the room."

Smiling at her success, she took the bread out of the oven, then rushed across the room and donned the coat, anxious to get going before he thought to ask her if she knew how to milk a cow.

They stepped outside. The snow was so high that it was past her waist. Not one to let a little snow stop her, she walked into it.

He grabbed her arm, and she started to protest, until he swung her up into his arms—her favorite position. Her heart picked up a fanciful beat, and she clasped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, smiling and resisting the urge to hum.

He was so wrong. She'd never freeze to death as long as she was in his arms.

A few dreamy minutes later they were inside the dank stable. He set her on her feet and shook off some of the snow while she looked around. It smelled of musty, damp hay mixed with the sharp sting of cow dung and the stench of chickens. She wrinkled her nose, while her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. She could hear the mumbling cluck of several chickens. "Look! We can have eggs."

His gaze followed her pointing finger to a broken wagon piled with hay that made perfect nests for a few scrawny brown chickens. A plump white cow lumbered out from a dark corner to the dull tune of a clanging cow-bell.

"Oh, look! It has a bell. I love bells, don't you?" She sighed with a dreamy smile and thought of kirk bells and wedding bells and Canterbury bells and best of all a Belmore Duke's warm arms.

The cow stood there, staring at them, blinking. It bawled. Joy sighed and pushed her fantasies from her mind. She turned to Alec. He looked at her blankly. The cow blinked. No one moved to milk it.

Finally he shrugged out of the coat and hung it on a peg near the door, then helped her off with hers.

"Tell me what you need," he said, "and I'll see if I can find it."

What she needed was to know how to milk a cow. She fidgeted, then reached out to stroke the cow, figuring they should get acquainted. After a few strokes she summoned up some Scots determination. "I need a pail."

"Fine." Alec began to search the stable.

Joy leaned over to the cow. "I could use some help here," she whispered.

The cow cocked its head and stared at her through huge gray bovine eyes.

"I want to impress my husband, so it would be very nice if you would cooperate for me," she said, as she patted the cow's wide back. The animal twitched its ears.

There was a loud clunk and the tooth-jarring ring of tin. "I found your pail. And a stool."

A stool? "Oh, good," she said, then whispered to the cow. "Please." She gave it one last pat before Alec joined her and set down the stool and pail next to her.

Joy tried to look confident as she sat down on the stool, then flexed her fingers, as she did just before casting an especially complicated spell, which she might have to resort to if this didn't work. She peered under the cow's full belly, then set the pail under the animal's udder.

"Mind if I watch?"

Joy jumped at the sound of Alec's voice over her shoulder. "No." She reached way under the cow and grabbed hold of two of those dangling spigot-things. Her arms were so short that her cheek rested against the cow's silky white hide.

The cow bawled and she jumped. She pulled. Nothing happened.

She squeezed. The cow swished its tail.

"Nothing's coming out," Alec said.

"I haven't milked a cow in a long time." She squeezed again and nothing happened.

"How long?" His voice was suspiciously quiet.

Joy turned her head away and muttered into the cow's hide, "Twenty-one years."

After a moment he said, "It's still not working." He bent down to look under the cow. "Did you have many cows in
Scotland
?"

"No."

"How many did you have?"

She didn't answer, but could sense that he was now aware of her ploy.

"You said you could milk a cow."

"Not exactly." She pulled her hands back into her lap, folded them prayerlike, and stared at them.